


Folie à deux

by recipe for insanity (sabriel75)



Category: Death Note
Genre: Asphyxiation, Dubious Consent, Duelling, Fight Sex, Genii, Geniuses, Hate Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabriel75/pseuds/recipe%20for%20insanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>L challenges Light to a battle of wills, one that goes beyond the usual fistfights. How can Kira refuse?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Folie à deux

The silver watch he wears on his wrist ticks away mercilessly, the sound dominating his thoughts and awakening anxieties he cannot pretend away at this hour. He knows who he is — he is Light Yagami, just Light Yagami. He knows that he values human life unconditionally and he is sure that if given the opportunity to take the world in a reign of fear, he would reject it and serve the human law instead. Yet the hands on the clock keep tick, tick, ticking, and it’s all he who has not seen real sunlight in weeks has to rely on - and it will not stop mocking him.

Another day has passed, says the watch. Another day and you are still Kira as far as he is concerned, and his is the only opinion that matters. Another day and you are still his prisoner.

Light wants to throw a tantrum. He curses repeatedly in his head, using every foul word he can summon in every language he knows in a futile effort to curtail the overwhelming frustration he feels. His fingers snake through his hair, fisting his too-long strands angrily. He will never forgive Kira for framing him and causing such strife to his family, and not to mention the murders — He’s innocent and he believes this with all of his heart.

He has reached the end of his patience’s tether. Three AM is no time for him to try deciphering statistics that after months of examination have no determinate pattern. A line graph that he himself has reentered and double-checked the coordinates in frenzied obsessive detail finishes loading and the results are normal. Abnormally normal. Nothing out of the ordinary, except no murder case has ever had such an infuriating amount of interminable data and managed to rack up a body count in the thousands.

Light slams the mouse repeatedly against the desk as if it had brains that could be knocked senseless. L turns slowly to watch, one of his eyebrows cocks up in question.

“How unfair, Light-kun, whatever did that mouse do to you?” he quips, playing dumbfounded with a finger curled under his lip. He rolls his chair over after he speaks, correctly assuming that Light has reached the resolution of tonight’s research, and gazes at the screen. Indeed, the results are seemingly meaningless at first glance, but one thing is made ever more present: the current Kira’s pattern is entirely different from the first Kira’s. Even further proof, in L’s mind, that Light’s abnegation will continue to crumble until the truth forces him to expose himself. His unassuming face, unreadable by everyone but Light, takes in Light’s stance and knows he has not hidden his smugness quickly enough.

“Light-kun is tired. We might as well call it a night,” L says hurriedly, apparently his hope that Light will not notice the slight and not start a fight. The effort is in vain, because Light has and responds testily.

“Aren’t you going to accuse me of undermining the case? How could I dare choose to sleep when Kira’s still out there killing? Perhaps I am only acting after all?”

Light’s impatience and childish attacks surprise even himself. He is never so unrefined but he cannot muster up enough remorse to care. He clumsily attempts to put back together the pieces of his destructive rampage, too tired to put effort into such a menial task. Surely, if he keeps his hands occupied, he can avoid the itch to punch L in the face.

The detective rolls back over to his terminal and flicks the screen off before he stands. Crouched as usual and with his gaze directed on the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the room at the moment, he brings his thumb to his lips before muttering around it, “What can I say that would make Light-kun refrain from directing his anger at me?” He pauses to tilt his head and let his one arm dangle askew, so that when he does make eye contact with Light, he looks like a court jester ready to hop a medieval fool’s jig.

Light takes the comment personally. Which in hindsight, it could certainly be considered inflammatory and is most definitely meant to be condescending. Honestly though, Light should be used to such treatment by now. L likes to turn insults into a whole body maneuver, and Light is intelligent enough to recognize it as such. It is as if L is merely putting on a show at trying to keep the peace and wants this fight. This, however indefinable it is between them, always seems mandatory and necessary — and wholly unavoidable if L desires it.

Light hates that he cannot even deny L this.

And that realization only fuels Light’s anger more veraciously than before.

His fist smashes forward to connect with L’s gut. Although Light’s response has been anticipated, predictable even that L has already sidestepped it, significantly reducing the impact of the hit. The detective drops down to his hands for extra leverage and rockets his foot upward in a powerful kick, hitting Light square in the chest. It knocks him backwards with a grunt of pain, and the solid, ungiving chain connecting the two men promptly goes taut. Even though L braces himself, the whiplash that follows cuts the cuff into his wrist and yanks his body forward.

As his opponent involuntarily falls forward, Light bends his knees and charges forward, grabbing L by the neck of his shirt and twisting for firm hold. He jerks the hunched L upward so their eyes meet at face level. Light can see into L’s wide eyes under a canopy of unruly black hair.

“Don’t you ever get tired of harping on the same old accusation? I’m young. Of course, I’m childish and prone to fits of selfishness!” Light grounds out, shaking his arms as if to fling away the ache in his chest and then throws L backwards. “If those are motives for arresting a person for being Kira then every Uni student should be interrogated.”

He looks at L who is massaging his wrist but staring bemusedly at Light as if the fight has caused Light to lose brain cells. All of these games, this relentless investigation and both L and Kira clawing at him, Light thinks his mind may indeed be falling to shambles.

“Light-kun believes himself childish and selfish just like Kira?” L adopts his bird-tilt head quirk to question Light, stepping forward again and not bothering to hide his smirk.

“I’m not Kira!” Light spits out venomously, aiming to punch L in the face. But the detective knowing Light better than anyone, twists his shoulders to cleanly evade the attack and then hooks a leg around Light’s knees and pulls. Light totters and tries to keep his balance, but cannot keep from falling forward and catches himself ungracefully with the palms of his hands against the tile.

He takes a second to catch his breath, but then he feels something press against his back. The arch of a sole, the curve of his toes... L has planted his foot on him, as though he has just conquered some foe. “Perhaps you should just give in,” L says in a voice that could come across as playful to anyone but Light, whose senses tingle at the danger lurking in those words.

Humiliation markedly burns on Light’s cheeks. Even though L will expect the reaction, Light whips around and shoves L’s foot into the air, disrupting his balance. Vindication compiled by uncontrollable rage inflames Light as he sends a soaring punch crashing into L’s nose. L tries to retreat a step, but Light shoves forward, too close to kick at, and punches again and again and again. L’s knee shoots up, missing Light’s groin but successfully slamming into his thigh. The pain burns terribly, and in the split second that Light takes to adjust his weight accordingly, L weasels out of his hold, drops down and kicks again. This time, his foot collides with Light’s mouth, causing his bottom lip to rip open across his own teeth.

His father will certainly want an explanation in the morning, Light thinks as he spits blood onto the floor and grits his teeth. Or maybe the story will be too obvious to tell. What matters though is he is not telling anyone that he lost to Ryuuzaki or has he any intentions of becoming a liar because of the man, either.

Light scrambles to his feet and towards the smirking detective who expects the punishing hit that Light nearly lands on his chin. However Light’s movements slowed by fatigue and the chain tangling in on itself, allows L to leap to his feet just in time to avoid a face-plant and instead takes it in the shoulder. L’s speed and flexibility, nauseatingly quick, cause Light to expel much of his energy trying to keep up with his rapid movements. But Light has the weight advantage and using that, he suddenly charges at L grappling him around the neck. The weight and momentum he has built sends them both flying through the air in the direction of the steel counter’s edge. L’s back takes the brunt of the impact. Its cracking sends needles of pain up his backbone and causes his body to convulse as they slide to the floor.

When L lays limp, the anger in Light’s mind dissipates completely replaced by genuine fear. “L! Are you okay?” He places a hand on L’s face, stroking it gently to check for any kind of response.

A few involuntary contractions ripple through L’s body before his body adjusts to the prone position and relaxes. His breathing normalizes and Light is confident that the blackout was only from the shock of impact and not any sort of spinal injury. Light wipes L’s bloody nose with the sleeve of his own sweater to ensure nothing will clog his breathing. L’s eyelids flutter at that, and Light tenderly brushes L’s errant bangs out of the way. Soon after, L’s eyes slit open to reveal the shadows of his eyes stark upon his ashen face.

“Hey there, you might have blacked out for a few seconds. Do you feel nauseous?” Light whispers, not wanting to hurt L further with his voice. L makes a noncommittal grunt, causing Light to lean closer. “I’m sorry, Ryuuzaki. I took it too far. Let me help.”

Except for a twitch in his knuckles, L does not move. Becoming progressively more alarmed the longer he stays still, Light puts his face right above L’s to check the focus of his eyes. If L is seriously injured after all, it will be entirely Light’s fault. Watari would have to oversee L’s prime suspects. Light doubts the man would compromise the world’s best detective’s precious health. L would be off the case, and...

(...and the accusations would stop.)

Light barely has time to rationalize this thought or process the guilt he should feel for thinking it before suddenly, two hands grab him roughly by the scalp, twisting into his hair and pull him downward to meet L’s mouth with his own. L swallows Light’s gasp with the force of his probing tongue. The teen, in a fit of panicked shock, pulls away and slaps L for all he’s worth across the face.

“What the...!” he yelps, too shocked for comprehension.

“Your benevolence extends even to me.” L does not mask the mockery in his usual monotonous drone, letting his tone drip of silky danger. He puts a hand to his reddened cheek; his lips curl into a menacing leer. “I thought I’d show my gratitude, but Kira doesn’t seem appreciative at all. Weren’t you yearning for a kind gesture from me?”

“Why are you saying this?” Light retreats. His back hits the iron door of the stairwell. “I may have hit you first,” he reasons doggedly, “but you didn’t exactly refuse to fight. I apologized already for hurting you. I was trying to help!”

“Trying to help,” L coos in repeat, his slouch deepening lazily. “What else have you done while ‘trying to help’, I wonder? What other acts of altruism are buried beneath Light-kun’s pretty shell?”

Light hisses as L advances until his nose is inches away from Light’s own. His neck extended and his stare unblinking. His fingers delicately cup Light’s chin. The detective stands tall; his aurora of superiority overwhelms Light and he has never felt so helpless and pitiful.

“What else have you done to —” L smiles, too brightly, and singsongs his next words, “make the world a better place?”

“Murder is wrong,” Light states defiantly, his voice projecting stronger than he expected. “I would never murder!”

“Really, Light-kun, you don’t believe that, do you?” L murmurs complacently. “If you did, you would never have turned yourself over to me.”

Light wishes he could explain why he did this, especially since L can always use his own actions as testament to his guilt. “I don’t know why I did that, but I wouldn’t murder!”

“Really? You think so?” L questions acerbically.

Then, suddenly, L’s hand is on the doorknob and the door gives way behind Light, and with L’s weight pressed against him Light falls toppling against the floor by the stairway. L crouches with one foot on either side his torso, one palm planted by Light’s head and the other giving him a thumb to sneer behind. “What if you only killed for the sake of justice? To protect what you love?”

Although spared from a full slam against the concrete, Light’s head throbs from the impact and his shoulders sting fiercely. At the accusations, the habitual defense stirs within him. “Justice is only for the law to decide.”

“What if you became the law?” L hums, leaning in on him. “Kira wants to become the law… just like me.”

All Light can do is stare, mouth agape at the deprecating detective over him. L’s seemingly rash behavior must be yet another of his carefully staged interrogations, and Light’s every reaction right down to the flicker of his eyes will be recorded and assessed extensively.

“…You can look for Kira in me forever,” Light contends hotly. “But all you’ll find is that the body count is mounting and you’ve wasted our time. I volunteered to help this investigation because I have nothing to hide!”

“Nothing to hide?” L repeats, chuckling to himself. “How about those porn magazines you keep hidden on your bookshelf?”

The topic takes Light by surprise. “I… I’m a teenager. It would be weird if I didn’t hide them.”

L leans in closer, creating a false illusion of intimacy by lowering his voice to a seductive pitch. “But how come you didn’t ever get off on them?”

Silence.

“What?” Light snarls, his patience breaking again. His heart thuds in his chest, and he shoves L off of him and gets to his feet.

“What you are thinking about – or what you aren’t thinking about – always interests me.” L stands up as well, malevolent curiosity etched in his features. “Killing criminals while I’m watching doesn’t turn you on. Apparently neither do girls.”

“Keeping secrets for so long cannot be any fun, Light-kun.”

Panic skittles through Light’s chest, running off in tangents, leeching off his nerve-endings and causing his fingers to fist and spread wide. An effort to calm himself and regain control of whatever part of him is left unscathed. Which isn’t much. Since he notices belatedly he has bunched L’s shirt with his fists and is snarling unblinkingly in his face.

He is met with a lopsided grin. “What’s wrong? Kira’s feelings get hurt?” L holds Light’s wrists, ready to apply pressure if Light decides to get even more physical.

His tone is blackly calm but now filled with that something underneath that Light can never define. “So emotional Kira, and that expression…, definitely charming with a hint of mass-murderer appeal. You might be my type after all.”

Looks should be able to kill, because the scathing one Light shoots L should have made him drop dead in an instant—be he damned forever as Kira or not. “I am not a conquest! Think like a human for once. This isn’t a game! Do you even care about anything?”

“I thought I made it rather clear I care for you dreadfully,” L says smoothly. He shifts their position, and Light finds his back against the staircase. A stair presses into his neck; he cannot move his head side-to-side without injury. “Actually, Kira’s all I think about these days.”

Light wants to struggle, but L holds him captive. The fervor in his softly rumbling words, the ferocity in his ink-black eyes, Light is left mesmerized. Shadowy tendrils of curiosity and fleeting imagery of his past lull him into complacency. Confronted by the real L, doubt that always existed misty-shaped in his mind fully forms. The drive to defeat this L forces his quiet and the heady intensity of being the sole object of his attentions makes breathing impossible.

Light’s incapacitation is not lost on L. He grins as if he were a demon chartering Light’s soul to Hell. “I think I’ll even miss you once you’ve been executed.”

“You Bastard!” The fear of execution snaps Light out of his trance, and he worms a leg free of L’s weight to knee L in the groin. L hisses in pain, and Light manages to break one of his hands free from L’s hold. He backhands the detective across the face so hard that his knuckles sting. L spits out a wad of blood and tries to recapture Light’s hand; after a short wrestle, he does. Light writhes forward blindly, only to be forced back into his previous stance, head trapped and L’s body consummately, snugly aligned to his to hold him in place.

“Nothing evades me for very long,” L brags seductively making Light blanche handsomely. “I want to see you without the mask on.”

(And something, something in Light’s stomach lurches at the declaration, as though to say, “just try it L,” while seducing him in turn. Just fucking try it, L.)

Fear takes up residence in Light’s eyes. He wants to close them but finds it impossible. The reflection of himself in L’s eyes is terrifying and thrilling. Maybe even horrifyingly too real for him to admit. Because in this moment he sees what L sees. A monster, a creature who willingly bloodies himself for an ideal that exists only in his mind. (The Light Yagami looks like him mirrored in these pools of black, except the eyes, crimson, tainted by the blood, oh God so much blood. Oh so much blood and this cannot be him, can it?) He blinks, trying to will away the image, but L somehow manages to lay him open, see through every defense he constructs and reveal the soul he hides in layers of jaded improvised charlatanry.

His breath hitches when he realizes that L is not going to stop at a few taunts. That he means to act upon his threats when he hooks a leg around both of Light’s, stroking him from behind with the pressure of up and down movement and eases their hips into a perfect fit, effectually cutting off any attacks Light might try with his legs.

“You must be the center of attention. Isn’t that right, Kira?” L mocks, his eyes shining brilliant with awareness. Passion too… for Kira or for Light. Or both Light imagines since he’s beginning to believe himself one and the same of the two with L’s persuasions.

“Isn’t this what you really want—for the world to tremble in fear and awe of you?”

L’s knowing glances drop into blatant perusal of their entwined bodies and the retort Light feels on the tip of his tongue gets swallowed and he chews on his lips instead. The corners of L’s smile wickedly turn up, and he grinds their hips together, yanking Light’s hands upward in one fluid movement. Light’s cheek hits pavement, but the pain cannot keep him from moaning as unbidden heat suffuses his groin and he instinctively wants to pivot his hips upward and tear kisses from L’s mouth. Tomorrow, he thinks weakly, how will we hide the bruises? The thoughts and rationalizations fade away completely. He cannot handle that right now. He tries to regain balance enough to control his body’s traitorous responses to the lecherous contact. And fails. His head flops backwards wantonly.

“Shhh…let your head fall back. You won’t bruise your face if you lay there,” L urges breathily, voice surprisingly gentle. He even repositions Light so his head will not slam into the stair’s edge.

The heat builds erratically between them. Light can see in this sprawled position, his body bared for L’s complete domination. The detective has wrapped the chain around both his wrists and now only needs one hand, the manacled one to shackle him. His wrists stretch above his head, pulling his body thin. Light gazes up at L, foggy-eyed.

“Appropriate, don’t you think?” L compliments in morbid delight. “You so enjoy playing the martyr. Let’s complete the look.” He pulls the front of Light’s sweater up and over the teenager’s head, balling it at the back of his neck, leaving his arms clothed but his torso exposed. Stripped, chained, bleeding and firm in the wake of L’s torment, Light indeed resembles a persecuted savior.

L chuckles softly at the sight. “You know, no one takes you seriously as a martyr when you have so much blood on your hands.”

At this, Light does find his voice. “You would know, now wouldn’t you?”

“Touché.” L laughs out loud at this hit, appreciating the emboldened look Light gives him. He straightens slightly so his eyes can roam Light’s entire body.

Light shakes his head in disagreement but says nothing. He focuses on the monumental task of not humiliating himself. Breathing is difficult and he in fact does feel like he might lose consciousness if he doesn’t find some relief, either in release from L and he shuts off his mind with that thought. Thinking logically does not seem possible. And the thinking he is doing only drives him further into madness. He gives in and goes limp.

“Good.” L notices the resistance has left Light. “Now let me show you how human you can be.”

It should come as no surprise to see L use his teeth to unzip his fly, but Light’s muscles clutch in anticipation and he sees L’s smirk widen.

“Kira enjoys being at my mercy,” he preens, his eyes never leaving Light’s as his tongue licks about Light’s waistband and his free hand fiddles with the snap. His hand slides into Light’s pants and between skin and waistband. He cups Light tightly by the balls, tugging and kneading them with crafty dexterity.

Light pants and bites his tongue. He refuses to cry out, beg for what his body is increasingly unable to ignore. Although his nerves are acclimatizing to L’s touch, he’s certain that nothing will ever leave him feeling so helpless.

The detective wiggles upwards, not stopping the hand stroking. He uses his legs and toes to pull Light’s pants and boxers around his ankles. He licks and nips and kisses Light’s neck. Trailing his tongue across the sensitize skin, L presses his head forward to stop Light from wiggling. Then, he opens his mouth and clamps down with ferocity right above Light’s shoulder.

“Aagh!” Light yelps. L’s teeth are razor sharp – evidently, sweets have done nothing to rot them in the slightest, and L’s jaw is like a vice. “Stop, let go!”

But L does not let go. His bite is unbreakably firm. Instead, he grabs Light by the cheeks with his free hand to clamp his mouth shut. Light winces and silences his protests, taking deep breaths to will away the pain. Another moment and L does release him, making the wound burn and sting all the more. When Light sees L’s face through his teary eyes, he’s horrified to see L lick blood off of his own lips like a feral cat.

(L is here, he’s after me, he wants to destroy me slowly so I know I’ve lost, he wants to devour me and I can’t escape, no where that his eyes can’t see me, oh god L is so close!)

His shoulder feels painfully wet and he cannot stop irrational panic from plaguing his stomach. A part of him wants to throw up from the absurdity of this macabre situation, and a part of him wants to latch on to this pain as the reality he’s yearned for all his life – to accept it and embrace and grind and fuck – these thoughts make him want to throw up all the more. But he doesn’t. Instead he watches the ghastly being at the end of his chain with almond wide-eyes, and attempts to steel himself for what comes next. He should try to bite at L's hand – it would seem fair revenge, but then L releases his mouth without protest.

Light is silent as L’s eyes flicker away from his face and to the gore he has created below. With a soft hum, L trails a spindly finger across the wound, and then holds them up for Light to see. Like a quill dipped in a jar of ink, L’s fingers will stain crimson. He lowers the hand, palm sliding down Light's chest until he stops right above the navel. He traces a vertical smear with Light’s own blood, then a vertical to connect.

L.

Fury flourishes in Light all over again. He writhes violently, trying to free his hands from the shackles or his legs from L’s weight, or at least distort the bloody brand L has marked him with. But it’s already dry and he cannot get loose from L’s spider web. He’s tangled and helpless as a moth, a sacrifice in the twisted games of Kira and L. Yet the struggling only increases the friction between his groin and L’s, and he’s pulled between lust and escape, both equal in urgency and yet impossibly out of his control.

(Hold me tighter, touch me, oh I'm not going anywhere at all, L...)

As if reading these secret thoughts through the moan that Light can barely withhold, L takes Light’s mouth with his own. He meets Light’s tongue, crushing his lips and shoving his head down hard against the stair that it rests on. The forceful kiss sends a shudder down Light’s spine, and though he refuses to let his tongue respond in turn, he allows L to freely taste him. He wants it, he tries to understand but all he knows is that his body doesn’t give a damn about what his logic tells it. This is so wrong. And L is hurting him, taking what he wants and what he wants is for Light to suffer, not to love him. Light knows that this isn’t what his heart wants. This is not how it’s supposed to be.

(But why, oh for god's sake, why does it feel like this game is exactly what some darker heart inside of him wants? And why does his body respond like they've done this before?)

L wipes his fingers again across the still-bleeding wound, sure to pinch and press against the smarting skin. It makes Light lurch further into the kiss, only to have L’s lips torn away from him. Instead, L shoves two fingers into his mouth, tasting of metallic sharp...

Light gags at his own blood being forced into his mouth. He salivates heavily and though he tries not to swallow, he does. That’s when he does bite, in furious humiliation, and L has to wrench out his fingers by using his other hand to prise Light’s jaw open.

“What are you doing?” Light chokes out as he tries to stop gagging.

L answers without a moment’s hesitation. “Fucking Kira.”

Light is fully erect and the promise of more stimulation makes his vision hazy. He has never been very sexual for an adolescent boy, nor does he commonly feel the need to masturbate. (No, the pornography didn’t do it. He can’t for the life of him remember what he was thinking when he bought it in the first place. So why now, in the midst of degradation, accusations and pain does his body react? Why for L?) Light hates himself in this moment and hates L more; then throws the hate away and bucks his hips against L’s jeans again.

L reaches down to his pants but does not remove them as Light suspects. He merely unzips his fly and reaches inside his boxers to free his also hard member from the confines of clothing. Without much warning, L grabs both of Light’s thighs, right underneath the knees, and forces them up until his ass is jutting forward and his back is screaming in pain since the edges of the stairs knife into him with increased pressure. Still, the only sound that actually makes it out of his lips is an unrefined mewl when L presses a bloody finger into him. Whose blood it is, Light has lost track, but it smoothes the entry. He cries out nonetheless. Because L isn’t gentle – has no time nor will to even try. No, on the contrary, he delights in his own sadism, and quickly jams another finger in. He curls them and twists them and then stops caring all together because he leaks with pre-cum and his perfect enemy trembles before him.

(He’s trying to win, he’s trying to beat me. Fuck him, just let him try!)

The head of L’s member presses into Light, and L grunts out loud as he adjusts himself and shoves it further in. Light cannot help – stretches the tender skin so mercilessly and it burns and he feels certain he’s being torn in two. The lubrication is too meager. Yet further in L goes until he’s fully taken Light, pausing appreciatevely when he gets there. Light lets out a hiccup of a cough and and tenses as L begins to slide back out again.

“Relax. You'll get used to it,” L encourages as he plunges back in, more quickly this time.

Again and again and again until Light’s not keeping count anymore because it’s an erratic rhythm of fire. His hips riding it out, begin to follow L’s movements of their own accord. The pain does not subside, but each thrust works his muscles until they have no choice but to give in and start to adjust. With eyes glazed over in pleasure and passion, L presses harder against Light’s knees to force his ass higher. He doesn’t look away from Light’s face. He is searching, experimenting, fighting...

...until he slams against the nerves of the prostate gland, sending shudders of orgasmic flames both up his spine and to his own groin. Light shrieks out, everything dizzy and he cannot think straight.

(He’s losing himself, losing to L!)

L pumps deeply into him and orgasms, and even the stoic enigma cannot keep silent at that. Warmth rushes into Light, filling him, and L digs his ragged nails into Light’s legs to ensure that he won’t fight it. “Kira,” he gasps, finishing his release. He pulls out with a heaving breath and wipes himself clean on Light’s sweater and zips up. He intends to straighten Light’s clothes, arranging his sweater back over his bloody torso before releasing his legs.

But as soon as Light’s legs are free, he flies forward with the full weight of his body. His still-chained hands grab L by the throat as the detective flips backwards and slams viciously down the stairs. It is the second back injury that L procures tonight, and his body convulses again involuntarily.

This time, Kira has no sympathy.

A sheet of red stains Light’s vision as though he is staring outward from the stained glass of a church. Indeed, how appropriate for the savior. He crushes L’s throat with his fingers, so tight that they themselves turn white. L thrashes wildly, oxygen-deprived and already breathless from his orgasm. Flayed by the stairs, and his body injured from the impact, he can find no leverage for him to sit up or roll off the maddened teen.

And Light finds himself laughing in terrible, breathless gasps. He jerks his groin against L’s stomach, sliding underneath his disheveled shirt. L’s choking seems to arouse him even more (You see me now, L? Are you watching me kill you and cum on your dead body, you fucking bastard?! See me now?!) and then L exhales one impoverished breath, Light’s orgasm comes, exploding out of him and breaking the remains down to a piled heap.

Silence reigns briefly until L clutches his bobbing throat desperately sucking in air to help him regain consciousness.

“Light-kun doesn’t know his own strength,” L rasps, seeing Light dumb-struck as he finds the strength for one more perverse taunt.

Light does not move. Statuesque in every way but for the arrhythmic beating of his heart and his hands violently shaking centimeters from the purpling bruises forming on L’s neck only seconds into the aftermath. His every emotion on display, flickering rapidly in his eyes for L to watch like an old-fashioned silent movie. Hate, desperation, fear – despite his own weakness, L forces himself upright and gingerly tests his muscles.

“You deserved it. You deserved it.” Light chants, his head robotically moving side to side as if he needs the physical act of saying no to accompany his words to believe it. He continues to look at L with frightened-wide eyes. “You deserved it.”

The mantra takes on a keening wail-like pitch. And L’s crushed voice box has no volume to snap Light out of the hysteria. So he slaps him, burying the guilt that burgeons in his gut with the contact and the immediate appearance of a pained look in Light’s eyes.

“Justice is merely a justification when brought upon by madness,” L’s timbre hardly cracks a low whisper.

Light stares hatefully, his whole body shaking now with his rage. “You think what you did to me was okay? Kira deserves it, right?

L simply nods yes.

“How… how can you?!” Light’s voice cracks, suffocating on frustration and denial.

L’s normally blank expression appears. The sneering glint in his eyes, the predatory curl to his lips – all are gone in place of pensive wariness. “For you… Kira,” L answers, unapologetically certain.

“You’re wrong ….” Light trails off as frantic thoughts of what he has done splinter his certainty. He has just gotten off on beating L senseless. The thrill of seeing L’s last breath a perversely erotic memory already. L has pushed him too hard, unfairly. He is to blame. Something in him had snapped, and he cannot be responsible for his actions under these conditions. This person is not him…“My name is not Kira,” he fervently states.

L pads over to him, ridicule staining his smile. He cradles Light’s defiant face, startling him into silence. He kisses him possessively, and Light’s eyes cloud over in lust… and fear. He holds him in an embrace as though they are something as ludicrous as lovers. His voice nearly gone now, he places warm lips to Light’s neck. Moving his mouth so that the sound reverberates against Light’s throat, L claims the last word.

“It is. You just don’t answer to it yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This must come first since I have not written this story alone. As someone who just subjected another person to the inhumanity of my perfectionism, I feel an author's note does not suffice and sierra deserves a whole box of pocky and maybe even a Hawaiian vacation after having to deal with my outrageous editing habits. Ever so sorry if you don't ever feel like collaborating with anyone again. However, like quilting, we brought patches of prose and assembled them over a skeleton one-shot, and together stitched them into a whole -- harsh, brutal fanfic. One that I hope meets your expectations when you joined me in my desire to write a darkly sexy story that has L misbehaving just as badly as Kira. (Also, I must throw out a shout-out to saphariel who challenged me to get in touch with my evil side. Here you go darling. I cheated and got help, but how does it stack up in your head as an angry sex story?)


End file.
